


This Love Now

by blanketed_in_stars



Series: 52 Weeks of Wolfstar [30]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: 1995, Lie Low At Lupin's, M/M, finally I contribute to this tag!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 05:17:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4466819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanketed_in_stars/pseuds/blanketed_in_stars
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The cottage has changed a bit, and they've changed a great deal, but Remus finds that he still recognizes the things that matter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Love Now

**Author's Note:**

> Week 30

The owl from Dumbledore arrives as Remus is setting out a plate for his breakfast. He goes to the window and takes the letter.

_Remus,_

_By now you will no doubt have heard something of what transpired during the third task of the Triwizard Tournament, and I trust you have reached an understanding of the present state of events. In these trying times we can all benefit from a stalwart companion. I suggest you find a friend upon whom you can thoroughly rely; a guard dog would not go amiss. I find that strays are well suited for this purpose, not least because, if caught, they tend to end up in extremely unpleasant places._

_There is no need to send a return owl. I simply wish to ensure your awareness and safety in light of the new dangers we are all facing._

_Albus_

Remus goes to the cupboard and takes down another plate.

But Sirius doesn’t arrive until late in the afternoon, coming back to Earth with a clatter of hooves and talons in the back garden. Remus watches from the window as Sirius dismounts and ties Buckbeak to a tree before picking his way across the stony grass.

Then, abruptly coming back to himself, he leaves the soapy dishes and goes to the back door. He opens it when Sirius is still several yards away. “What’s going on?” he asks. It seems like the most important question. Contrary to what Dumbledore believes, he’s heard nothing.

Sirius doesn’t stop. “I’ll tell you inside.”

So Remus makes him tea and tries to ignore the shifting chaos of his mind, which is desperately trying to come to terms with the fact that Sirius is once again sitting in the kitchen, once again drinking from this cup, once again tracing the grain of the tabletop with long fingers, which are thinner and dirtier than the last time.

“Surprised you still live here,” Sirius says, as if he can hear Remus’s thoughts.

Remus lifts his eyes from a stain on the wood. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” he points out. “And I suppose I wanted to hold on to something from—before.”

Sirius nods.

“What happened?” Remus asks. He doesn’t mean to poke at the matter, but it commands his attention like stormclouds over a field. “Dumbledore sent me a letter, but it didn’t really say any—“

“He’s back,” Sirius says, the truth thrown into being, an unwanted and unwashed animal materializing beneath the flickering lightbulbs.

Remus blinks. He swallows. It sticks, and he coughs, and swallows again. “Back?” he croaks. There is no question of ‘he.’

“Last night,” Sirius says. He sets his teacup down.

“How do you know?”

“Harry saw it all.” The way he says his name, like a father—they don’t talk about Harry much. But in one sentence Remus hears everything, concern and awe and love, and he wonders if they don’t talk about him because it goes without saying. “I knew he was in danger, getting into that tournament, and last night proved it. Remus, he almost died.”

Something in Remus responds to the panicky tone, but he pushes it away. “But he didn’t?” he checks.

“No, he’s not hurt. Not physically.”

He pushes the meaning of that away, too. “Tell me,” he says, reaching across the table for Sirius’s hands.

It takes an hour to get the whole story. Mazes, graveyards, a silver hand. When he’s heard it all, Remus sits back in his chair, arms crossed across his chest. “I would’ve known it wasn’t Moody.”

Sirius frowns. “That’s what you’re taking away from this? Voldemort’s _back_ and you think you could’ve spotted what Dumbledore missed?”

“Yes, that’s what I think. I don’t know, Sirius, what do you want me to say?” He sighs. “We both know it’s awful.”

“A damn sight more than awful,” Sirius mutters to his empty teacup. He sighs as well and pushes it away. “Dumbledore said I’m to stay here.”

“For how long?”

“He didn’t say.” Sirius seems to be keeping his voice carefully neutral.

Remus has to smile. “Your name’s still on the deed, you know.”

“What?”

“Well, you didn’t die,” he points out. “You signed, remember? We’re joint tenants, or something.” He shrugs. “They didn’t take away your Gringotts account, why would they take away your house? So it’s legal for you to stay here.”

Sirius chuckles. “Except for the part where I’m a wanted criminal.”

“True, they might object to that.” The smile pulls on his cheeks now, watching Sirius. It’s as if he’s deflating, spreading out into the very foundations of the cottage, as if he never left. “Since you’re staying,” Remus says after a moment, “would you like to eat something?” In the anticipation of news, he realizes he’s forgotten that Sirius has been living mainly off of rats.

Sirius looks startled, like he’s forgotten, too. “I’m not hungry,” he says.

Remus wants to argue—skin and bones, he wants to say, I can see your ribs through your robes—but then he thinks about how the world is ending, and decides that maybe it can wait. He stands up. “How about a shower, then?”

\---

He’s rolling up his sleeves to finish the dishes when Sirius speaks behind him. “Where are the towels?”

“Top shelf of the closet in the hall,” Remus replies.

A minute later, Sirius says, “They weren’t there before.”

“Oh.” Remus thinks back. “I suppose they weren’t.”

By the time Sirius is done, Remus has put the dishes away and found pillows and blankets for the sofa, and jumps when Sirius appears in the doorway of the sitting room. “Find everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Sirius says, “thanks.” He swings his arms awkwardly for a moment and then sits on the sofa, at the opposite end from Remus. No, he doesn’t sit; he perches, like a bird that could take flight at any moment. Like a dog afraid of being kicked.

As is so often the case, Remus isn’t sure what to say. The news about Voldemort creeps onto his tongue, but he swallows it down, not ready to face their impending doom. “It’s good to see you back here,” he says haltingly. At least it’s the truth.

“Never thought I would be,” Sirius says.

Remus didn’t either. He thought they would die apart, Sirius on that island and him in this empty little house. Half the time, he thought it couldn’t come soon enough. But—and this is what keeps bubbling up in his chest—they haven’t died, not yet. They’re both here. He shifts on the sofa and opens his mouth before he knows what will come out. “I love you.”

Sirius, whipping his head around, looks as stunned as Remus feels. His eyes are wide, his mouth hangs slightly open. “What?”

Remus could be fifteen again, his cheeks are so red. “It’s true,” he mumbles, because it is and he can’t find it in himself to ignore it any longer.

Sirius gapes. “What?” he repeats.

Remus shrugs. “I love you,” he says, and it strikes a chord in him. “I never stopped, not when we weren’t talking, not even when I hated you.” His lungs feel oddly constricted, but in a good way. His heart pounds. “It’s been a long time, though,” he adds. “Of course I understand if you—“

“No,” Sirius interrupts, and again, more vehemently, _”no.”_ He sounds almost angry.

“I get it, it makes sense. We’ve—“

“No, Moony,” says Sirius, one more time. He reaches out and lays a light hand against Remus’s cheek.

Remus feels his heart stop.

“I never stopped either,” Sirius tells him, soft like he remembers. And then his lips are on Remus’s lips, and they gasp a wild, yearning breath together, and it’s different than before. Rougher, more desperate.

When they pull apart, Remus can feel his pulse singing in his palms where they rest on Sirius’s neck. No, it’s not the same. The thing he remembers most is the thunderhead looming in the distance. This is a whole different beast, this love now, changed. But then, so are they.

Sirius is looking into his eyes, their foreheads pressed together. And it comes to Remus that the important things aren’t so different after all.


End file.
